


Best man-ing for beginners

by Lovebirdie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: AU, Comedy, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, I like happy relationships, M/M, Marriage, Oneshot, Peter is drunk and does shit, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Weddings, a bit of cursing, an au where Harry isn't that much of a butt, and nothing sad ever happened, just a little bit of angst I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:19:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovebirdie/pseuds/Lovebirdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sooner that day, Peter had thought it possible to survive the wedding of the boy who he was in love with ever since his eyes fell on him back in middle school. But as he hands Harry the ring destined for his bride and not him, he can't endure it anymore.</p><p>He has seen Harry drowning his worries before. The best man might as well try if the same works with him regarding his problems. After all, drinks are on the groom today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best man-ing for beginners

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction on here, so bear with me! Although I've written for years, there could still be some mistakes.  
> Feel free to tell me! I love all sorts of feedback.
> 
> WIth that said, hope you enjoy this little oneshot!

It’s their wedding day. Harry and Felicia stand in front. The whole company is invited. And Peter is the best man. As he watches them and notices their matching flower pins, his mood gets clouded again. Harry never liked flowers too much, but maybe he changed and that’s why he didn’t bother to tell Peter about his wedding until he casually told him over the phone a week before. Later, he got formally invited as the best man, with a letter handwritten by Harry himself and the Oscorp stamp on it. He still wonders how he got through the whole week without shedding a single tear. While he could believe it, he could not accept it.

Peter had thought that maybe it was just for the image, but seeing the unusual way that Harry’s hair is styled back, as if his beautiful fringe is in the way, he guessed that maybe even Harry Osborn could’ve changed. All the changes that Peter never noticed.

It’s ridiculous, but he needs the shot, so he stands up in the middle of the ceremony to get the glass of champagne that’s been seductively staring him into his seat from the bar for minutes that felt like hours. Harry is throwing him a look as if he knows and Peter catches it because boy, did he even look at anything other than the groom himself ever since he spotted him in that wonderful dark suit that accented his waist just way too well? 

None of the stares manage to make him feel that uncomfortable about his choice as Harry’s does. It’s not a disappointed look, rather a worried one. There’s enough care in Harry’s eyes to heal a nation. Peter thinks back to when he has seen that look before. He gets a flashback of the blond bowing over him back when he got a fever and had to stay in bed. Or when he came to him after getting beaten up by a school bully. Or that one time when they were out at night for a walk. Harry had sported that expression just after he had draped that expensive Prada coat over Peter’s shoulders in an attempt to keep him warm.  
Felicia knows of nothing and both boys think that it should stay that way forever. There was more to the friendship of Peter Parker and Harry Osborn than they would both like to admit. They basically spend every moment possible with each other and it seemed like there was always too much distance between them. None of them would ever tell her about the rushed late night science projects that Peter would need help with, about the times when they tried each other’s flavour of ice cream with a teenage blush and a gentle brush of their hands that felt more than comfortable, about the nights when they would fall asleep in each other’s arms and about the mornings when nothing would seem strange except the emptiness when one left.

The whole church knows of nothing and Peter prays to God that he please forgets it too. He empties his champagne in one go, but luckily the ceremony and the kiss don’t last long. Handing Harry his ring felt like letting him go, though. And Peter doesn’t like to let go, because no one ever came back. He regrets taking up the duty of being the ring-bearer. But who would he have been to refuse Harry?  
Harry’s ‘I do’ echoes in his mind. He imagines it’s destined for him.

The wedded walk out, arm in arm and not hand in hand as the best man would go for a walk with the groom when latter didn’t have that status yet. Harry is smiling the same smile ever since they had entered the church. He lets her cut the cake and Peter starts keeping a safety distance. The word ‘glad’ is deleted from his mind, although he’s still talking himself into the belief that Felicia will take good care of Harry. He doesn’t worry about her. He knows that she’s lucky, but not exactly how much. He doesn’t know, but he wants to know every single detail. From Harry’s tired smile in the morning to his gentle touches at night. He’s a hot-blooded guy under the surface, but when holding her, he would calm down and his breathing would become one with hers.

It makes him so mad that he messes up the prepared speech, the clapping and the toast. He wonders why. How can you manage to choke after toasting? He’s a mess and hopes that only he himself notices that.  
And it’s time to chat with the couple, compliment the bride, ask about their plans for the future, lay the gifts on the table and get drunk at the bar.  
Peter procrastinates everything except the last thing. He’s not a drinker, but he has seen Harry when he was mad before. The boy would smash vases from China as if they were punching bags and then get a bottle that was just as extraordinary as said vase, a golden or clear liquid in it.

Harry likes Whiskey when he’s sad and Vodka when frustrated. His best man orders both, pours it together and then lets the fire trickle down his throat all at once. Gross. It takes a few seconds, but then his throat feels as if it’s trying to kill him. Some of Harry’s acquaintances stand nearby, laughing and cheering. Peter puts it on again, his sunny smile and the witty comment necessary to keep his image up. He might be shy, but he always knew how much he had to let people see. Being the drunk asshole best friend sounds better to him than showing how emotionally torn he really is in this moment. He wishes the day would end, but thinking of how this is the last day of their old life, he kind of doesn’t. Math has never been his favourite, but Peter knows that this equation would only make sense if you subtract a few days and add some more details. Probably a lot of confidence on Peter’s side too. But who knows; after all a guy like Harry would just be too good for the boy who still struggled with paying his college tuition while swinging around New York, trying to snap pictures of superheroes and world's most dangerous criminals.

It’s not like Felicia is bad for him. As he watches her throwing her flowers, he notices the smile on her face. She’s happy because of him.  
The bride throws with way too much power and Peter concludes that she saw too many movies about it. It still seems like a movie when none of the ladies manage to catch it, but the groom himself is hit on the head by the bouquet of flashy pink roses. He laughs it off and she joins in. Instead of repeating the tradition, Harry gets a daring grin on his lips and picks the pastel-coloured blossoms up, walking into a certain direction.  
‘Oh no.’ is all that Peter thinks as he realises that it’s time to stop being a silent watcher.

“I guess you’re the one who deserves this the most…”  
The expensive blossoms get shoved into his arms and he’s more overwhelmed with the fragrance of strong, spicy cologne than the sweet, delicate smell of the flowers. Harry’s bright blue eyes are as trusty as ever, but that thought is immediately followed by the knowledge that those stars are not shining over him anymore. 

He gently holds the gift in his arms, as if the beauty of the flowers was his most valuable thing right now. The process of replacing is already starting.  
“Thanks, man.”

Everyone witnessing the scene sighs and Harry is laughing, patting him friendlily on the shoulder in an almost forced manner – or was it? “Don’t make that face, give it a year and you’ll be in my place!”  
“Sure?”  
“Who wouldn’t want a guy like you?”

Later, as Peter is getting his next shots of strangely comforting alcoholic mixtures, the face of the person who wouldn’t won’t leave his mind. The flowers are forgotten but safe with his aunt who wouldn’t stop gushing about how beautiful his own wedding will be.  
Peter wants to forget that he had ever imagined himself by Harry’s side when thinking about his own special day. He decides to chat up the nearest guys since downing one glass after another is not a solution. No, what he needs is longer breaks between sips.

They turn out to be friendly past school friends of Harry that immediately give Peter the much-needed shoulder pats – and the refills of his glass. Before, Harry would sometimes stroll over and look after his absent best man, but seeing him with people reassured him and Peter doesn’t see him for the next half an hour.

It looked so easy when Harry drank straight from the bottle when he had been frustrated about his corporation’s stocks dropping. But after four glasses, Peter decides to keep it low for now. Instead of drinking, he talks more. The guys love to hear more about the so called ‘ice prince’ – they can’t believe Peter when he comes to the story of how he sleep-talked about bunny-shaped ice cream one night. He earns a few ‘aw’s when he tells them that he couldn’t deny the request, although the kitchen was a mess after it.  
He’d rather not tell them about all the times they had fed each other said candy or shared a bed that didn’t leave enough space for two people to sleep in without being completely huddled up to one another.  
A few metres nearby, Harry forgets his current conversation as he overhears his best friend talking about shared memories. His mind goes back to the ice cream that they ate that night, its colour being the same pink as the flowers’. He remembers Peter’s hand stroking over his hair lightly as he bid him goodnight when they were done. Felicia has to nudge him to remind him that this is his wedding and not his Pete’s dimly lit room at 2 am.

Peter starts showing off with his knowledge about the groom and everybody thinks that Harry is lucky to have a friend like him. But when the facts get too embarrassing, blame the alcohol, said groom closes up to the other to have a saying in his talks. Their audience appreciates their bickering just as much. But Peter gets frustrated like a child that’s not allowed to play with its toys, so in front of Harry, who knows best for him, he gets more than just a shot of scotch and downs it immediately.  
“Peter?”  
The caring undertone is enough to send shivers down his spine. Harry’s gentle voice, in which a glimmer of affection lays – it’s too much to handle in this very moment. He can’t hold out like this with Harry in his raven black suit with this calm, slightly nervous pokerface and a crooked silver tie.

Asymmetry is one of Peter’s biggest bothers - and a welcome distraction before he snaps completely and breaks into crying on the spot. He leans forward and fixes it, mind automatically telling him that this will be the only time he ever gets to do that. “Isn’t this your wife’s job?”  
“Yeah, maybe I should have married you and not her.” A grin.  
It’s just joking around like always, but Peter gets emotional because of enough strange substances in his bloodstream. He wants to hear that sentence over and over again. No, he wants Harry to actually vow to be his husband for all of eternity. But that won’t happen in this life. And probably not immediately in the next one.

“If I were your wife, I wouldn’t have forgotten that you don’t like pins or flowers…”  
Former predictions about Harry’s change became assumptions about him staying the same as he saw that he had indeed been right as the older one shook his head slightly. “I haven’t known her for as long. But it’s cute how you still remember what I’ve told you once or twice.”  
He wants to tell Harry that he’s almost as important to him as his own life. Maybe even more. Probably much more. Why wouldn’t he remember a detail that could help making him happier sometime in the future?  
Oh, he was so important to him. No girlfriend could ever come close to the feeling of seeing Harry’s smile right in front of him. Peter had tried dating. Not once, not twice, but multiple times. He had just been desperate to get over him, but it had never happened. The kisses never felt as right as Harry’s arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. 

Sometimes Peter wonders about how visible his feelings really are. There’s a thin line between friendship and relationship and crossing it is Peter’s forbidden desire. But he’s still Harry’s best friend and as such he vows to keep his feelings in and take them to his grave.

“Hey, wanna go for a dance? Felicia and I already opened. You know, I haven’t talked much with my best man today…” Peter had been in his thoughts for too long and almost missed the smile he was flashed with. He wants to swat the hand which was offered to him away, make him believe some random bleached lie just to have an excuse to not be around his closest friend more than necessary.  
Instead he stares down at the hand, not sure how to react. The wires in his brain seem to be dysfunctioning at the moment. “Eh, sure.”

Harry senses his discomfort and blames the high number of guests unknown to Peter on it. Instead of waiting another few crucial moments for the other to finally get a grip on himself, he just takes his hand and pulls him towards another section of the area. They are out in the open, so since there are no real restrictions like walls, Harry leads him to a spot on the side which isn’t really in the spotlight, hoping to get his friend to open up more that way.

Peter still notices the many looks they get, especially from relatives. Of course; Harry is after all the star of this party. And he was about to demonstrate his poor dancing skills in front of all of them, not to mention that he had already noticed a slight tipsiness while walking alongside Harry. “You’ll lead?” Peter speaks up and earns a nod. “Don’t worry, I know that dancing’s not your thing.”

They quickly fall into a foxtrot to some pop song which Peter recognises from hearing it on the radio way too often.

‘I belong with you, you belong with me, my sweetheart’

Not really sober, he chuckles and dances a bit closer. “That’s the cheesiest song ever for a wedding.”  
Harry smirks slyly and leans in, as if the sudden closeness has him not bothered, but rather the opposite. “Do you want to know a secret?” He whispers, and it makes Peter melt under his hands, now a puppet only being steadied by the hand around his waist and moved by the other one whose fingers are intertwined with his. He tentatively nods, not sure if he can take what that hushed voice is doing to him once again.  
“I found it on the internet. Most popular songs to be played at weddings.”

That gentle, husky voice with the contradicting hilarious confession was just so typically Harry that Peter couldn’t help it and chuckled, burying his head in the other’s shoulder to suppress upcoming laughing. “Dude, seriously?”  
“Don’t tell anyone.”

But then he notices his scent and it’s over again; it’s not really the cologne which makes him go crazy, although he has recognised it as his usual immediately. No, it’s rather that indescribable fragrance that has always accompanied Harry; from childhood to adulthood and finally, to this day. Familiar. Peter wondered what the smell of their shared home would be like.  
He doesn’t have time to think about it since Harry is showing without words that he’s going to spin him. He lets him guide him and falls right back into his arms. The groom is catching him as if letting him go just now had been the most regretful decision ever, and Peter hopes the affection in the other’s eyes is just him reading too much into it. His hand is suspiciously tender too. He can feel Harry stroking his back lightly with his thumb. But maybe it was just the song's effect on him.

‘Love, we need it now, let’s hope for some’

Both don’t notice that their faces are closer than the wedding pair’s were before. They savour the last minute of the short song and Harry ends it on a smile and one of these awkward shoulder pats.  
“Wanna go for another one?”  
“Sure-“ Peter finds himself saying, but hesitates as an even more romantic song starts. “But shouldn’t you be with Felicia for these ones?”  
Harry shakes his head with a grin and no explanation. Or, at least a try of an explanation. “I like dancing with you more.”

Lots of questions form in Peter’s mind, but he lets them stay there; mainly because he wants to savour this situation while he can.

Their steps get lighter with the beat of the song and the soft guitar strings help Peter to loosen up. The song is upbeat, cheery and tells of how love makes you feel winged and lightsome. Peter wonders why Felicia doesn’t even bother to look their way. If he were in her place, he wouldn’t leave his husband’s side under any circumstances. Not just on the wedding day, but every other day of the year.

After a time, Peter realises he can’t stand those blue eyes that close to him much longer and excuses himself with the reason that his feet need to rest. Harry wants to tag along but he signals him not to.

He regrets the decision the moment that he realises that he just gave up everything in mere embarrassment: His scent, his touch, that smile destined for him only.

It needs another few shots of golden liquid until he’s emotional enough to go back to the groom and suddenly glomp him without any warning, crooking his tie in the process and not caring the least bit. With a nervous chuckle, Harry is trying to peel the arms off his body. It’s then that Peter loudly exclaims that he had always been in love with Harry Osborn and always will be and because of his own laughter that follows, pitying himself, all of the guests are amused by such a ridiculous, impossible situation. Harry tries to smile; he really does. “Pete? Get off me, you smell like scotch.”  
“Oh, I love it when you smell like scotch.”  
And he proceeds to list every lovable detail about his babe, as he likes to call him. His words are more or less slurred as he gives everyone a brief history of their relationship and what Harry has done for him over the years. He doesn’t forget to mention how ‘perfect as his ass’ his face is; all the while stroking Harry’s cheek as if he was a kitten. The groom threatens to call his security, but he does so with a smile that more or less betrays his amusement. Just as he pats his shoulder in the friendliest way possible and starts to defuse the situation by telling him how funny he is, Peter tears up without warning. “But now I never get to score with you, ever. Damn, Harry, I wanted to be the one in that frilly-ass dress!”

The passion and desperation in his words is so bad that even Felicia’s smile drops. Some of the guests suspect that this maybe isn’t just a drunk guy playing a surprisingly good one-man-comedy, but just a boy who fell in love with the wrong person.

Harry notices, pats his shoulder again, for God’s sake, and plays it off like the businessman he is. “Man, Pete, I’m blushing. Glad to have a friend like you. Hey, let’s get you some water to calm down. You still feeling nauseous?” Business taught him how to solve such problems - fake smile, fake distance. The situation’s not yet defused, though, as Peter whines and starts touching his face in the strangest, yet most endearing manner possible once again. No real reason for that, if the need to be close doesn’t count.

Instead of going to the bar with him as the best man requests in drunken slurring, Harry drags the complaining drunkard to the bathroom next to the chapel. Some people exclaim how nice he is because he’s tidying his best man up; it’s the last thing Peter is hearing before the door shuts tightly behind him.

But boy, does the groom make a mess out of him as he pushes him up against said door and crashes their lips together, pulling on his tie to have him closer than ever. Peter doesn’t even think about complaining, too drunk to even realise that this is real and not just another daydream. He closes his eyes and concentrates on all the love he’s finally receiving, lips eager to make the boy in front of him his.

Both are still awkward and inexperienced, but after the heat of the moment, they relax and Harry takes the lead. Peter vaguely realises that he’s aiming to fulfil the same desire that he had when they had been dancing before: getting as close as possible to the other while touching as much of his body as possible. He sighs against his lips as Harry’s thin fingers run over his chest, the feeling new but not strange and more pleasant than anything he’s ever felt. His arms around Harry’s neck try to pull him even closer and soon he starts running his fingers through his hair.

Both don’t want to part their lips, so when they do, it’s not even a real separation as their lips are still millimetres apart. They breathe shakily, but in a matching rhythm. Harry’s hands rest on the other’s shoulders, while Peter’s move forward to caress his face. It’s a moment that belongs to them only – judging from their looks, one that should have happened way sooner.

Just when Harry moves forward for another sweet, loving kiss, Peter realises that this is real; that it’s neither a daydream nor a fantasy. His eyes start to fill with tears, too overwhelmed to register anything. His best friend notices immediately, after all the brown eyes were the only thing he has ever looked at since entering the room. “Pete, hey…” Peter sees the fear and regret flashing in his expression and realising that he might give him the wrong impression, his tears spill.

Before Harry can fight out the internal battle between wanting to wipe the teardrops away and apologising for the sudden train of events, Peter pulls him into a hug with swift motions. “Look, Har, this is, oh damn, I mean… I’m happy? Don’t mind me, I guess…” He’s wetting the suit as he cracks on the last sentence, smiling. Even though it’s just been cleared up, Harry is still confused about his feelings.

He changes their positions so that he’s the one to pull the other's face to his chest to comfort him. “So you don’t regret it?”  
Peter scoffs. “Thought it was pretty obvious,man…” His voice comes out muffled, but lacks nothing of the usual sarcasm. Harry grins and leans forward to connect their lips, but then Peter protests again, separating a little bit to look the other in the eyes.  
“Don't you? I mean, you just got married…”  
Harry breaks into a laugh. “Damn, I forgot about it.” Peter thinks he misheard him and blames the alcohol. “But, uh, you’re in love and stuff, I guess?”  
He gets a dreamy look and a breathy ‘Yes’.  
“Uh, with her.”  
Harry actually looks surprised at the statement. “I didn’t even try to look like it. Guess this means I’m a natural when it comes to acting.”  
“Clear this shit up immediately, Har.”  
“Staged marriage. Fake. No hard feelings involved.” As Harry sees that it’s dawning his friend now, he quickly adds: “Sorry for not telling you, but I couldn’t risk anyone slipping the truth. Look, we had to satiate the press and Felicia’s got some trouble with her parents because she isn’t married-“

He’s shut up with a short kiss, not more than a mere peck, but enough to quiet him. “It’s chill.” Peter tells him, feeling way too sober for his liking. "It's... chill. Kinda." On one hand, he’s angry and just wants to web the other to the ceiling and leave him hanging there for hours. On the other, he wants to kiss him senseless.  
But most of all he’s glad that his best friend isn’t really that much of a cheater and that he actually kissed him. Harry Osborn, love of his life ever since Peter found out what that word meant, responded to his confession by kissing him.

Peter fucking tears up.  
“Shit, Pete, I’m really sorry, I…”  
“No, am just glad.”

Then the brunet remembers something important that his mind had immediately put in the back of his back before. “Wait, Har. You said ‘Yes’ when I asked you if you’re in love.”  
The other huffs and gets that devilish smile on his face again. “Took you long enough.”  
“But, like, with me?”  
“Of course, Sherlock.”  
“Oh.”

The next moments consist of awkward silence, being too close to not be all over the other's body and subtle yet suggesting glances at kissed lips.

After a few too many kisses, some of them too passionate for a small restroom, they go back and spend the rest of the day dancing, telling the guests the craziest things about the other, sneaking back into the restroom for more kisses and leaning against each other tiredly in the car back to Harry’s place. They had agreed before, during one of the make-out sessions, to spend the night in each other’s arms, both smiling shyly like two teenagers crushing over each other.

“Pete, how’s this: Honeymoon on the Bahamas.” Harry is lazily weaving his fingers through the other’s hair as he’s leaning on his shoulder.  
“We need to marry first before having a honeymoon, babe.”  
“Can arrange that.”  
“I don’t need a certificate to prove my love for you.”  
“That was actually romantic. Then a normal holiday, still Bahamas. Alright?”  
“God, yes.” Peter sighs longingly at the thought of free vacation with Harry.

They stay quiet after a few more words. It doesn’t take Peter long to doze off, his head still leaning against his lover’s shoulder. Harry notices soon, loosens his tie and closes his eyes too.

It feels like eternity had just passed them when the driver wakes them. They walk inside hand in hand, watch a bit of TV arm in arm and go to bed in each other’s embrace.

In the middle of the night, Harry wakes Peter up, feeling like his husband and still stuck in that dream.

“I want that bunny-shaped ice cream from 2014 again. Strawberry flavour. Get your ass in motion, Parker.”


End file.
